Yellowhammers and Brimstones

Tuesday morning, out on a ride, and suddenly there’s a flash of yellow in an otherwise dreary grey morning light. There it was then ... the season’s first glimpse of a Yellowhammer!

Brimstone butterflies next, the colour of butter, and a sure precursor to warmer rides!

It’s a great colour, yellow. And it certainly attracts attention. The first daffodils of the year, the yellow label on a bottle of Wolf Blass wine, and of course the site of the yellow jersey in the Tour de France peleton.

Summer brings days of paddling in my yellow kayak, fishing for mackerel of the Devon Coast. And then there's custard, bananas, lemons, sweetcorn, peppers and pineapple.

Psychologically, yellow is the happiest colour in the colour spectrum.

 

Lovely wife Jo is also thrilled with the yellow jacket I ride in during the darker months. Pragmatically, I have grown to like it too. But I’d still rather wear black, because, even at the age of 52, I still want to look cool. The little Yellowhammer proves Jo right though ... a tiny glimpse and there it was.

As to being 52, this week the Times reported on exercise with regard to age. This was in light of an eminent journalist, Andrew Marr, suffering from a stroke hours after completing a gruelling training session on a rowing machine. Andrew Marr is 53 years of age. So this has made me think.

The Times also stated that, at 50, men are more competitive with each other than at any other time. I thought then of friend Nige and I, half wheeling each other on an otherwise pastoral ramble through the Severn Vale with our wives. Or Dave and I hitting a birthday balloon around until it became proper indoor volleyball, culminating in me breaking a rib on the arm of the sofa as I dived to retrieve his winning drive ..... with my six year old son’s birthday balloon! And finally, this time last year, of my ridiculous push to come third in the Common Room mileage competition – exhausting myself in the process – lowering my immunity levels and ending up a virus ridden mess for the next three months. But I did come third!

So, I’m still riding the miles, but I’m giving myself a break. I’m chasing the kind of fitness level whereby I can go for hours on end, but I’m happy to tackle the hills in the granny gear.  I’m making friends with my knees, instead of ignoring their irritating complaints. Slower perhaps, but possibly a lot further.

Footnote:

A few days later:  A Brimstone butterfly! Spotted whist umpiring on the Under 9’s cricket pitch. Spring may finally be here!